


Jogan Fruit

by AnandaRunner



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), snacks and rude flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnandaRunner/pseuds/AnandaRunner
Summary: From across the room, she hears his quiet gasp.





	Jogan Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> Happy valentine's day ;)
> 
> If you've been reading my series, this is *not* written as part of it -- though you can read it that way if you like.

One of the first things Rey learned after she left Jakku is how _very much_ she loves fresh fruit.

 

Meiloorun, durang, honey melon, muja… but specifically jogan fruit.

 

She always pilfers a few from the kitchen as soon as they arrive, hiding them away in her room for a quiet moment to herself. They don’t keep long, as she doesn’t have a refrigeration unit in her quarters, but she always eats them within a day or two anyway -- hyper-vigilant to wastefulness even amidst the abundance they enjoy here.

 

She likes them best when they’re a half a day away from being _too_ ripe, when the juices are sweetest. The firm flesh gives way under her teeth and her fingers and chin are always sticky with the juice before she’s done eating them.

 

But in the quiet of her room, it isn’t as if anyone sees her carefully sucking every tiny drop of juice from her fingertips, relishing the taste greedily as if she’ll never taste another.

 

She sits with her back wedged into the corner furthest from the door, munching her way through her third -- and last -- jogan, bright orange juice coating every finger, when the air in the room grows heavy and silent.

 

 _Damn_.

 

She hears him before she can see him, her hiding spot concealed slightly by the bulk of her bed.

“Wh..what are you doing?”

 

He looks...uncomfortable.

 

His eyes shift from the fruit in her hand, to her face, and away as he shifts awkwardly from across her bed.

 

She makes a face at him, annoyed by the interruption, then looks back to her prized fruit.

“Eating. Obviously.”

 

She opens her mouth to take another bite, but halts at the strangled noise he makes.

 

Spiteful, as she often is, she stares him down as she digs her teeth into the moist flesh; purses her lips to draw the juice to the surface.

 

His mouth drops open even as his entire face gradually turns red, his eyes trained on her mouth and the fruit in her hand.

 

She keeps her eyes on his as she chews the bit of fruit, breaking away only when his gaze darts to her hand again.

His breath sounds strained, shaky nasal exhalations as he works his lip between his teeth.

 

She shouldn’t taunt him like this, maker knows she shouldn’t, but she just can’t stop tormenting him now.

 

She’s enjoying it too much.

 

A quirk of her lips has him looking at her again, meeting her eyes with something that could be a scowl.

 

She knows it to be _hunger_.

 

It’s a familiar feeling for her: wanting something she shouldn’t. Something she reasonably cannot allow herself to want.

 

But his discomfort isn’t enough to stop her from enjoying her fruit in the same way she usually would.

 

She narrows her eyes slightly, smirking at him, looks back to her fruit.

 

The juice from the jogan runs down her thumb.

 

She cocks her wrist to stop the trail of juice from going too far, and licks a long line up her hand, letting out a small sigh at the sweetness.

 

From across the room, she hears his quiet gasp.

 

Yes. Hunger.

 

She shuts her eyes, relishing another bite, and tamps down the urge to grin when she hears his heavy footfalls approaching her.

 

“Please stop that.”

 

She looks up at him, his hands clenching and unclenching as he watches her.

 

Again she holds his gaze as she takes another juicy bite, savoring the look on his face as much as the jogan.

 

She speaks to him around the mouthful of fruit.

“Why?”

 

His sigh comes out sounding halfway like a growl as he kneels in front of her.

_“Please, Rey.”_

 

Contrary as ever, she takes another small bite, then turns her hand and offers him the jogan.

 

He frowns at it, suspicious, looks back to her curiously.

 

She moves her hand toward him slowly, not entirely sure what he’ll do.

 

His own hand comes up, shaky, wrapping around her wrist. He pulls her arm toward him, more gently than she expected, his eyes boring into her own.

 

His thumb slides up the length of hers, and she’s struck again by how it feels when they touch.

 

Like magnets, or electricity. Conductive. Mesmerizing.

 

He leans forward, pulling her wrist until she does the same, and closes his mouth around the fruit in her hand.

 

She can hear the juice being drawn to the surface of the fruitflesh as he bites and pulls away, his gaze locked on hers.

 

He leans back slightly as he chews the bit of jogan, orange nectar tinting his lips, plucking the fruit from her fingers with his free hand.

 

She opens her mouth to protest, but he tugs her wrist again and she waits.

 

His cheeks color again and _stars_ it's no wonder he always wore a mask: every thought is broadcast on his face if his control slips for a fraction of a second.

 

He grins -- a small dangerous thing, eyes dancing above that fierce blush, long scar shockingly pale against it -- as he pulls her closer still, making her shift up toward him, on her knees now too.

 

Once again she starts to speak, to ask what the _kriffing hell_ he thinks he's doing, but then his lips are closed around her smallest finger and her brain short circuits.

 

His lips are as soft as they look, but his _blasted tongue_ slides along the side of her finger insistently and she lets out a shaky exhale.

 

“Stop that.”

 

He gently pulls her finger free, the cool air an odd sensation after the warmth of his mouth, and grins again.

“Why?”

 

“Because--”

 

He drags his tongue up the side of her hand, cleaning it of the sticky juice.

“What was that?”

 

She growls, tugging her wrist and bringing him with it, kissing him forcefully.

“Don’t start something you won’t finish, _Ben_.”

 

He smirks and starts to speak, but the sound comes rushing back and he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I am maybe too big a fan of force-blocking these two. Oops.
> 
> (Yes, he stole the rest of the jogan.)
> 
> Come say hey on [tumblr](http://redsithbluesith.tumblr.com/).


End file.
